Rain lashed against the shattered stained-glass windows of the chapel as Luca and Aria sprinted through the corridor, gunfire echoing behind them. The once-sacred hall, decorated hours ago for their wedding, was now a battlefield soaked in blood and betrayal. Aria's white gown, once pristine, was streaked with soot and crimson. Her veil had torn away somewhere in the chaos, fluttering behind like a ghost of what could've been a symbol of peace that had no place in their world.
Luca reloaded his weapon with steady hands, his expression hard as marble. "Stay close," he ordered, voice sharp over the cacophony of screams and bullets. "They'll come from the north hall next. Matteo's men are cornered, but desperate."
